by CJ Lyons
“Back!” Tierney ordered, pointing a bloody hand wielding a scalpel at the intruder. “Maggie—”
“On it.” She rushed over to the man, guiding him to the far corner where she wrapped him in a scrub gown and corralled him until he had donned sterile booties and a scrub cap. Radcliffe didn’t protest, instead he seemed bemused.
Luka couldn’t help but wonder how long the man had been watching and listening from the observation room—it felt as if his appearance wasn’t as sudden as it first appeared. Finally, Maggie released him, and he stepped toward the autopsy table.
“Behind the line,” Tierney commanded. Radcliffe stopped obediently, toeing the red-taped line on the floor a few feet away from the table, giving him an adequate view but nowhere as up close and personal as what Luka had. “No touching, no taping, no talking unless necessary.”
“It’s necessary,” Radcliffe told him. “Dr. Wright’s work with us was quite sensitive.”
Luka braced himself. Damn feds. They were taking over his case. His phone buzzed and he stepped back, slipping off his gloves to retrieve it from inside his Tyvek jumpsuit. Probably Ahearn calling to tell him to stand down, turn over everything.
He glanced at the screen. Not Ahearn. The farm’s landline. Radcliffe was watching him, an eyebrow arched in challenge. Luka declined the call, let it go to voicemail. Then he texted Krichek, asked him to verify Radcliffe’s credentials.
Radcliffe sidled over, toeing but not crossing the red line. “I’m not here to interfere, Detective Jericho. Nor to take your case. Merely to help, offer our resources. And to protect the interests of national security. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s a priority?”
Luka’s only priority was catching the sonofabitch who did this before he had a chance to hurt anyone else. He ignored Radcliffe and turned back to Tierney. “Any ideas about the weapon or weapons?”
“My initial thoughts, based on the fracture patterns and skin damage, are a wedge-shaped blade along with a sharp awl-like instrument that could pierce.”
Maggie touched the computer screen. “Something like this, maybe?” A sketch of a short-handled hatchet with a wide blade and narrow-tipped head appeared.
“Yes, they could be combined into one weapon,” Tierney allowed.
“I drew it based on my preliminary exam. The configuration matches several types of survival axes. Technically not sold as weapons but there are a ton of videos with people using them that way.”
What would would-be criminals do without YouTube? Luka thought. “Any chance you can narrow that down to a specific model?”
“Once I get the microscopic examination of the kerf marks, perhaps,” Tierney said. “But more likely the best I’ll be able to do is tell if any weapon you find is a match or not. And it will—”
“Take time. I know. Anything else?”
Tierney stared at him. “I’ve only just begun my examination.”
Autopsies could take hours—and Tierney’s meticulous evaluations of every anomaly could take all day. Luka didn’t have that kind of luxury, especially not now with the feds on the scene.
“Call me if you find anything,” he told Maggie as he headed out. To his surprise, Radcliffe followed him into the locker room.
“I’m not the bad guy here, Detective. Fill me in, tell me what you need. I can make it happen.” He looked ridiculous standing there wrapped in the surgical gown, hair cap slipping halfway off. But he was right. The feds had resources Luka couldn’t dream of accessing.
“How ’bout you fill me in on how you got here so quickly?”
“Your Commander Ahearn didn’t tell you? He notified Homeland last night as soon as he realized Dr. Wright was working on sensitive material. And they called us—as did CERT and the university once they heard the news about Dr. Wright’s passing. Of course, by then, I was already on my way.” The DIA agent paused, scrutinizing Luka. “I’m rather surprised you didn’t call us yourself, Detective.”
“It was on my to-do list.” Smack dab at the bottom, since Luka knew damn well the feds were more likely to hinder than help. “But since you’re here, what was Ian Wright working on for the government?”
Radcliffe made a clicking noise with his tongue as if Luka had disappointed him. “You know I can’t divulge—”
“Any classified material. I know.” Luka’s phone buzzed. Krichek texting back. Radcliffe checked out—Krichek even included a photo as verification, along with Ahearn’s instructions to give the DIA their full cooperation. Guess they were stuck with the man. “Don’t suppose you could narrow that down or help us with a direction?”
“Why don’t we start with what you’ve got already,” Radcliffe said.
Weighing each fact before parsing it out to the fed, Luka gave him a quick summary of what his team had already found. Radcliffe fished his phone from his suit pocket and tapped on the screen, making notes.
“Sounds like you’ve got most of the bases covered. Of course, we’ll need all electronics from Dr. Wright’s home and office. My team will examine them, let you know if we find anything.”
Luka hoped the cyber techs had already got what they needed from Ian’s phone and laptop, because once the DIA grabbed them, they’d never be seen again. “That would be very helpful,” he said in an overly gracious tone.
“Consider it done.” Radcliffe’s tone was filled with bonhomie, ignoring Luka’s obvious sarcasm. “I need to review the crime scene, of course.”
“We should be done processing it later today. I’ll call you and we can arrange a walk-through.” Luka was stalling for time and they both knew it, but to his surprise Radcliffe acquiesced with a nod. Luka pushed things further. “Can you tell me anything about Ian’s work that might help me?”
Radcliffe took his time as he unknotted his surgical gown and unwound it, balled it up, and threw it into the laundry bin. “I can’t.” He shrugged. “But I have no indication it’s the motivation for his murder. In which case, my work here is done as soon as I retrieve Dr. Wright’s computers and all his research.”
Could the man be any less helpful? Luka thought. This case was complicated enough and he didn’t want the feds on his territory, bringing with them their own unique brand of chaos. Especially since the autopsy seemed to indicate a personal motive, someone who’d wanted Ian Wright to suffer beyond human endurance.
Radcliffe turned as if to leave, then turned back. “I should also tell you that Dr. Wright’s consulting contracts were under review. He was scheduled to face a disciplinary board.”
“Think maybe you should have led with that?” Once again, Luka fought and failed to keep the sarcasm from his voice, but it didn’t matter—Radcliffe appeared immune, infuriating Luka more. He despised being patronized, especially coming from an empty suit like Radcliffe. “Why the review? What did Ian do wrong?”
Radcliffe reached the door and pulled it open. “I don’t think you need to worry about any of that,” he told Luka in a dismissive tone. “After all, aren’t most homicides tied to the loved ones? I were you, I’d focus on the wife.”
Fourteen
Leah sat in the empty stairwell, trying to find the energy to climb the final flight to the pediatric floor, her phone still clutched in her hand. Despite the fact that Nellie had died two years ago, not a day went past without Leah thinking of her, especially when the chaos grew too terrifying. Nellie had taught her how to ride a bike and play games, she’d coaxed her to join soccer and Girl Scouts, eased her out of her isolation. Leah still had an aversion to crowds and was desperately phobic about attempting small talk, but the few social graces she had, she’d learned from Nellie.
Her phone buzzed, making her jump. “Dr. Wright?” It was Arthur. “The nurses are asking that you come back.” He made it sound like a request but behind his words Leah heard a sound that flooded her system with adrenaline: Emily screaming.
Before he’d finished speaking, Leah was sprinting up the last flight to pediatrics, berating herself all the way. Never shoul
d have left Emily… her thoughts echoed the pounding of her feet. She pushed through the door and headed toward the clutch of nurses and the sound of a child’s cries.
“I’m here.” She flung herself into the room. Two nurses were trying to hold Emily down. Cindy stroked Emily’s hair while also pinning Emily’s head to her pillow so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Leah edged one nurse and Cindy out of the way, taking Emily into her arms and receiving an elbow in the ribs from Emily as her reward. “I’m here, baby. Mommy’s here.”
“I called for another dose of Versed,” one nurse said.
“No.” Leah snarled the word as she fought to contain her daughter’s flailing limbs. As tempting as the idea of sedating Emily for the next few days was, she knew that was no way for her daughter to move past her trauma. “No, thank you.” She amended her tone.
Emily slowly responded to Leah’s caresses, curling up into her chest. She was still sobbing, hard enough that hiccups rocked her body, and Leah tightened her arms wrapped around her.
“We’ll be okay.” She stroked Emily’s hair, glanced up at the nurse. “Is Dr. Kern in?”
The nurses exchanged glances at each other and then the clock on the wall. “Not yet.”
Of course not. Psychiatrists didn’t follow normal hospital rhythms. Plus, Jessica also had her duties running the free clinic and she’d only left the hospital a few hours ago after seeing Leah and Emily in the ER. Still, Leah couldn’t help but vent her frustration in Jessica’s direction—although, the true blame lay with herself. She should have been here when Emily woke and needed her.
“I’ll call Dr. Kern,” the nurse said. “Let her know Emily’s awake.”
“Thank you.” Leah hesitated, but after the man in the ER… “And the guard for Emily? I didn’t see one when I came in.”
“He’s right across the hall at the nurses’ station. We didn’t want him at the door where the other children or Emily could see him and get scared. He can see Emily’s room and the hallway from there.” Of course. That’s exactly why the nurses’ station was positioned there to begin with, so patients were under constant observation. Leah knew it wasn’t like the movies with two armed guards standing at attention outside a door—but that might have made her feel safer. She hugged Emily tighter.
The nurses drifted away, each with a lingering glance back at Emily. The last closed the door behind her and once again Leah and Emily were alone.
Leah shifted her weight to a more comfortable position, nudging the bag of clothing she’d brought from the ER to the floor. Her phone kept buzzing with missed calls and texts—the last four from Ruby, she saw with chagrin. She turned the volume off and placed it beside her on the nightstand. Emily’s body was a dead weight—but unlike last night, her eyes were alive, scanning Leah’s every move with suspicion. “It’s okay, pumpkin. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Over and over she repeated the words until finally Emily pulled her thumb from her mouth and the tears slowed. Emily yawned and stretched her arms around Leah’s neck, laying her head on Leah’s shoulder. Leah kept stroking her hair, rubbing the spot between her shoulder blades, humming loudly enough that she felt the vibrations go through her chest into Emily’s. Slowly, slowly, Emily’s body responded, shedding some of its panic. Finally, Emily fell back asleep.
Emily’s breathing an irresistible metronome, Leah couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Just a few seconds, she promised herself. I just need a few seconds…
Then Ian was there, and she wondered why she’d fought to stay awake. They were on the couch, both reading, Leah sitting sideways, her legs over the armrest, her back leaning against Ian’s left shoulder.
“Do you ever think what life would be like, where we’d be, if we never met?” Ian asked. “I wish I’d known you when you were young. Then I could have been your first best friend, first love, first guy to step on your toes when we danced—”
“You were all of those,” Leah answered. “First and last and only.” She rested her head on his shoulder. In the ER the law of survival was to trust no one, assume nothing; be the ultimate cynic. And yet, somehow, despite his logical mind, the man she’d fallen in love with was a hopeless romantic at heart.
Exactly why she loved him so much. But a tiny part of her—the voice of that little girl left behind so many times—could never quit wondering why he loved her…
Her own sobs startled her awake. Emily was still curled up on Leah’s chest, watching her with an impatient feline stare. Leah glanced at the clock—they’d slept for over an hour. She shifted Emily’s weight so she could sit up. “You okay, pumpkin?”
“Daddy—” Emily’s voice was hoarse. “Daddy, he’s hurt.”
Leah tensed. She wasn’t ready for this, not at all. Part of her tried to hide behind the knowledge that she shouldn’t contaminate the forensic interview the police would need. Most of her screamed that part down—hell with interview protocols. If her baby needed to talk, Leah wasn’t about to stop her. But she was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of making the pain worse or retriggering Emily’s panic. No amount of training could erase her instinctual maternal fear. She rubbed Emily’s back with one hand and with the other reached for her phone, tapping the recording app.
“Yes,” she finally answered. “Daddy was hurt really bad. But you did good, hiding, staying safe. That was very smart of you. You’re a good girl, Emily. I’m so proud of you, being so brave.” It felt strange giving her daughter the words she’d always craved from her own mother. And yet, they were so easy to give. Why couldn’t Ruby have done this?
Leah measured her next words, terrified she was going to get this wrong. She kissed Emily’s head. “I love you. And so does Daddy. With all his heart.”
“Is he here?” The words Leah had been dreading.
“No, baby. He’s gone. The bad man hurt him very badly.”
“Gone away?” Leah didn’t answer, fighting her own tears. “Mommy?” Emily pushed up to face Leah, her entire weight pressed against Leah’s rib cage, but Leah couldn’t feel the pain. “I think maybe, maybe Daddy’s not coming back. I think the man killed him dead.”
Leah lost it, crushing Emily to her, sobs draining from her.
She kissed Emily on both cheeks. “It’s you and me now, pumpkin. I’ll take care of you. No matter what.”
“The blackspaceman, he was scary. I don’t want him to come back.”
Leah wondered at the weird phrasing, as if black spaceman was all one word. But now was not the time to question—Emily needed her to listen, to comfort. “He won’t. I promise. Your daddy scared him away.”
“Daddy told me to hide and not come out.”
“And you did. You were a very brave girl. Daddy would have been so proud of you—and I’m proud of you. You did a good job.” Leah took a breath, hovering on the edge of hysterics as her imagination filled in the blanks. No, she couldn’t go there, not now, not with Emily near.
Emily frowned, still upset, but somehow was treating what happened with more objectivity than Leah could muster. Not dissociating, thank God, more like dissecting, trying to understand the chaos that had forever changed their world. Her expression, with that furrowed brow, lips pursed in dissatisfaction because things didn’t quite make sense—how many thousands of times had she seen that exact same expression linger on Ian’s face as he puzzled out a problem?
“Daddy was crying. And saying bad words,” Emily said slowly, her gaze on Leah’s face, gauging Leah’s response. “Then…” Her sigh rustled the fine hairs on Leah’s cheeks. “Then he was quiet.”
Leah blinked, trying to decide if she should ask. But clearly Emily wanted to process what happened and she didn’t want her silence to be misconstrued as disapproval. “Honey, did you see anything?”
Emily sighed again, her expression making her look much older than she was. “I heard Daddy shouting at someone—out in the hall. And loud noises. He kept shouting for me to hide and not come out. Emily, don’t come out. So I d
id what he said.”
“That’s right, you did. Good girl.”
“But I peeked.” Emily said it as if an admission of guilt. “When the door banged open, I saw Daddy fall down. And I peeked.”
“That’s okay, Emily. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Leah wanted to ask what she saw, but knew it was best to let Emily tell the story her own way.
Emily placed both her palms against Leah’s cheeks and brought her face close until they were nose to nose. Staring into Leah’s eyes, she said in a whisper that could probably be heard out in the hallway, “Daddy was hurt. Real bad. I couldn’t see his face, all I saw was blood. Why did the man hurt Daddy? Why, Mommy?”
Leah had no answer other than to hug her daughter as tight as humanly possible.
Fifteen
Luka left the medical examiner’s offices and prowled the halls of Good Samaritan, debating his new evidence. It was the paradox of good detective work: you had to simultaneously chase down every lead—otherwise a defense attorney could rip your case to shreds—but also learn to listen to your instincts when they urged you to follow a specific avenue of investigation.
The fact that Ian Wright was tortured before he was killed implied two motives: the killer either wanted his secrets or he wanted his pain and suffering. Which meant the murder was tied either to Ian’s work—Ray and Radcliffe were already covering that territory—or his home life: his widow or the presumed mistress, Katrina Balanchuk.
Despite the complicated and obviously pre-meditated instruments of Ian’s torture, Luka’s gut was telling him this case had nothing to do with Ian’s work. It was all too damned personal—intimate, even. And where did this new player, the man who’d assaulted Leah in the ER, fit in? That attack definitely sounded personal—was the entire Wright family being targeted?
Radcliffe wandered off to pursue his own “national security” leads, leaving Luka free to focus on Leah Wright. After stopping in at the security office—they were reluctant to help identify the ER attacker, quoted privacy regs, until Luka threatened to call the DA’s office. Not that the DA would have done much—although technically throwing a bloody rag at a person was a form of assault—but invoking prosecution was always a surefire motivation. Suddenly, they promised results within an hour.